


bittersweet

by epilogues



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, M/M, Magic, Soulmates, where do I start
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18820855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epilogues/pseuds/epilogues
Summary: Then the woman turns around, and - Pete was right, she’s beautiful, but she’s wrong, because - Pete remembers what’s wrong.It’s Patrick. It’s always Patrick, every single morning in every single place, and he’s always just out of reach.





	bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has been in the works since september, and i am /so/ excited to finally be publishing it! i'm pretty proud of this one and i hope you all enjoy! and big thanks to phoenix (@data-dork on tumblr) for beta reading this for me!
> 
> slight tw for lots of implied (impermanent) death

Despite the way everything was so, so dark only a moment ago, there’s light dancing in the room when Pete wakes up. Sunlight is streaming in through the curtains, and the faint sound of birdsong filters in from outside. There’s even a warm body tucked under Pete’s arm - she’s snoring softly, little “mi-mi-mi” sounds coming out on the exhale like a cartoon, and even though Pete can’t see her face, he somehow knows she looks like an angel.

There’s a weird itch in the back of his mind that he can’t place well enough to scratch, but things otherwise feel so perfect that Pete’s not sure what could ever be wrong.

Then the woman turns around, and - Pete was right, she’s beautiful, but she’s  _ wrong _ , because - Pete remembers what’s wrong. 

It’s Patrick. It’s always Patrick, every single morning in every single place, and he’s always just out of reach. 

Pete will see him across the street but get hit by a bus once he starts to cross. He’ll see Patrick in the lifeguard’s chair at the beach and jump in the water to be “saved” only to be carried away by an unnaturally strong current. It’s happened so many times that Pete’s used to it by now, almost. He doesn’t know why, barely remembers  _ before _ at this point. (Before was amazing. Before was the band and Chicago and falling for Patrick on long, lonely stretches of highway and dating Patrick for five years, and before was perfect until it suddenly became the now of new places and no Patrick.)

“Peter? Baby, why are you awake? It’s only six am,” the woman in his bed asks. She’s rubbing at her eyes groggily, tone somehow both half-asleep and affectionate, and Pete’s never seen her before in his life.

“Just had a bad dream, I’m okay, go back to sleep,” he whispers quickly. Lies come so much easier now, it seems, even if every moment without Patrick feels harder than the last.

“No, I’m awake now, might as well go take Ollie out.” She sits up, careful not to jostle Pete too much as she gets out of bed. The sunlight catches on the ring on her left hand and temporarily blinds Pete. “You should get some more sleep, though, baby, you and Jack were out pretty late last night.”

“Okay, I will,” he says, because it seems like this will appease her. Pete earns a quick nod and a fond smile before she turns and walks away, shutting the door behind her and closing Pete into what already feels like a cage. ( _ A hideous one, too,  _ he thinks, wrinkling his nose at the olive-green color of the walls.)

Pete could, hypothetically, stay here. He could find out his “wife’s” name, discover which version of him she’s been assigned, live the white picket fence life he’s always tried to convince himself he wants. But, of course, that would all require giving up on Patrick - and that’s the one thing Pete’s sworn never to do.

* * *

 

“Peter? Are you feeling okay?”

The woman -  _ Cynthia _ , Pete reminds himself, her name is Cynthia, according to the mail he went through while she was at work - wraps her hands around the mug of tea she just poured and sits down next to him. 

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know, you just seem quiet,” she says, taking a sip of tea before continuing. “Did something happen at work today?”

“Not anything out of the ordinary,” Pete answers. It’s not a lie - he has a normal office job in this life, and over the years, he’s gotten good at pretending to be working while really searching every database he has access to for one Patrick M. Stump.

Cynthia hums noncommittally and drops her head onto Pete’s shoulder. 

“How was your day?” he asks, because it seems like the kind of thing this Pete is supposed to do. 

“It was good, I’m exhausted, though. And I have a night shift tomorrow.”

_ Nurse,  _ Pete thinks. “You should go to sleep early, baby.”

He hates the pet name, but the way she’s been saying it to him all day sounds like an expectation of hearing it back.

Cynthia yawns, shifting a little to tuck her head further into the crook of his neck. “Yeah, you’re right. I just feel like I haven’t seen you all day.”

“Mm. I’m sorry,” Pete hums. 

“Hey, you should tell me the story again,” Cynthia says, tone brightening up a little. 

Pete immediately tenses up, although he’s quick to hide it. This is  _ not  _ going to end well; it honestly feels like the universe is just throwing curveballs at him so he has no choice but to fuck up and be forced to explain to this woman that he’s not her husband. And while yes, he’s not  _ desperate  _ to maintain his relationship with her, he really doesn’t want to get kicked out as an imposter before he finds Patrick. (It’s happened before; he got himself locked in a psych ward three lives in a row before giving up on telling the truth.) 

“What story?”

“You know! The one about your grandmother and the goat.”

Pete, obviously,  _ doesn’t  _ know. “But you’ve heard it a million times already,” he bluffs. 

“But I want to hear it again, baby, are you alright? You love telling the story!”

“I’m just tired,” Pete says. “In fact, I think I’m going to bed, okay?”

Cynthia pouts as Pete pushes her up gently. “Okay, sleep well. I love you.”

“You too,” Pete mumbles. He tries not to think too hard about the way he can feel her disappointed gaze following him as he walks away.

* * *

 

Pete’s still shaking off a dream of seeing Patrick, finally being able to reach him, being able to  _ hold  _ him, when he steps into the living room and is jerked to full awakeness by Cynthia’s strangely frog-like voice.

“Peter? Why are you dressed for work? I thought it was your day off.”

Pete looks down at the slacks and button-up he’d found in the section of the closet conveniently labeled for work. “I know, but my boss asked me to come in for a few hours today, and I told him I could.”

Cynthia frowns slightly as she closes the lid on the fish food she’s holding. “Wait, him? Did Angela leave or something?”

“Uh… yes. She left Monday, actually, didn’t I tell you?”

“No, you didn’t.” Cynthia turns to return the fish food to its cabinet, and Pete shifts uncomfortably. He’s been here for two weeks now, which is longer than it usually takes him to find Patrick, and now he’s starting to slip.  _ Great.  _ “Well, I’m not sure if I like this boss if he’s already having you work overtime.”

Pete shrugs. “He’s, uh, he said he needs extra help while he gets settled in, that’s all. I’ll be back by four at the latest, okay?”

“Okay,” Cynthia says reluctantly. The fish in the tank behind her begin to move away from the surface and back into their nooks and crannies, peering out just enough for Pete to feel like they’re watching, judging him. 

“Well, bye then,” Pete says, not meeting his “wife’s” eyes as he backs out of the living room and into the garage. 

He doesn’t drive to the office his car’s GPS is still set to, but instead heads down to the Main Street Cynthia had mentioned the other day. He’s getting desperate enough to start his sometimes-tradition of walking down the busiest streets he can find in the hopes that he’ll bump into Patrick.

And today, it looks like he might be in luck, because Pete sees Patrick’s face after just two minutes of walking - except it’s only because Patrick is in the fucking newspaper.  Pete leans down and snatches the loose paper out of the air before he can even really process what he’s doing.

The article is entitled “Local EMT Lost In House Fire,” and no, no, that’s Patrick’s face next to the words and his name under the photo and Pete’s forgotten how to breathe because this has never happened before. Patrick’s never been dead when Pete found him before.

Pete steps back under the closest store awning automatically as it starts to rain. Kids are shrieking as they run down the street, but the sound is practically non-existent to Pete. Patrick… Patrick’s dead. Pete took too long and now he’s gone.

“Do you have a lighter?”

Pete practically jumps out of his skin as he looks up at the woman in front of him. “Excuse me?”

“Do you have a lighter?” she repeats, speaking slowly like she’s not sure if Pete can hear. 

“Uh, no, sorry,” he says. He’s still holding the newspaper, the pages audibly rustling as his hand shakes. 

“Ah, well, worth a shot.” The woman shrugs and drops her pack of cigarettes back into her purse. “Whatcha reading?”

Pete holds the newspaper up with one hand and watches her already-wrinkled face crease even further.

“Oh, hon, did you know him? I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, I, uh. I knew him.” Pete says. (He doesn’t know how to  _ start  _ to explain everything that he and Patrick are.)

“Do you want to talk to him?”   
  
Pete tenses up. “What do you mean?” he asks, forcing his voice to remain neutral. This is usually the part where he’d walk away, but… Patrick. 

The woman reaches back and ties her long gray hair into a bun as she says, “I perform seances, sweetie, I’ll even give this one to you for free because I can see how you’re hurting.”

It feels… forced, like whatever forces of the universe that keep throwing Pete into different lives have placed this woman here like a prop. But even the  _ possibility  _ of a chance to talk to Patrick is still a chance to talk to Patrick, and that’s more than enough for Pete to follow the old woman down the street and into her rickety, peeling-paint shop. 

It’s classic, old Hollywood type sketchy - a rat even scuttles dangerously close to Pete’s feet as he steps inside. 

“Have a seat, please, Pete,” the woman says.  “I’m Ruby, by the way.”

“I’m -” Pete cuts his introduction short when he realizes that Ruby has already said his name. He sits down at the chair she gestures to and waits, mind whirring like it’s caught in Dorothy’s tornado, as she rummages through a drawer.  _ If I’m Dorothy, Patrick can totally be the Tin Man,  _ Pete thinks with a wry smile that instantly disappears when he remembers what he’s doing in this room.

“Alright, so I’m just going to -” Ruby leans forward, a lighter in her outstretched hand as she reaches for a candle. “Hey, you know, it smells kind of weird in here.”

Pete wrinkles his nose; she’s right. There’s a strange smell in the room that he can’t quite place.

“Hm. Weird.” Ruby shrugs and clicks the lighter on, and the last thing Pete thinks is,  _ Hey, wait, that smells like - _

* * *

 

“Doctor Wentz, you’re late again,” the tall blond nurse snaps. “Your patient’s down in 109, already prepped, c’mon.”

“My…” Pete blinks. The last thing he remembers is the old woman and the candle and the - oh. Right. Fuck. Moving right on, then, another new place to find Patrick. “My, uh, my patient, right. Can you show me to 109? Or better yet, can I take today off?”

“Take today off?!” the nurse exclaims, jaw dropping almost comically. 

“Well, yeah, I’m feeling a bit under the weather,” Pete says. Thank God that countless lives have made him into just a fast enough thinker to realize that 1) he’s a doctor, 2) he’s supposed to go operate on someone, and 3) he has no fucking clue how to do so and therefore has to get out of here  _ now.  _

The nurse gives Pete an  _ Are you seriously fucking with me right now?  _ look. “This patient has been waiting for this transplant for two years, a donor finally shows up, and you’re feeling a bit under the weather? With all due respect, sir, what the hell?”

The response Pete opens his mouth to give stops dead in its tracks. Just behind the nurse is a set of glass doors marked EMERGENCY ROOM. And through the doors Pete can see an all-too-familiar face that should never be covered in that much blood. 

“Patrick!” he’s yelling, pushing past the nurse and into the ER. “Patrick, fuck, what happened? Patrick!” 

Patrick looks up, looks directly at Pete for the first time in god knows how long, and Pete’s almost to him when his foot slips and he falls hard, his head colliding with the linoleum floor with a harsh  _ crack.  _ It only takes a moment after that for the spinning cartoon stars to fade to complete darkness.

* * *

 

Pete wakes up alone for the first time in what must be twenty lives. The silence, the lack of an unfamiliar body next to his - he doesn’t think he’s ever been so grateful for solitude as the memories wash over him. 

Patrick. He’s here for Patrick, always Patrick. That’s all that matters. He can’t worry about the past “lives” he’s lived and the people he may have hurt in them (it’s hard with that nurse’s words still ringing in his ears, but he has to try), because all that matters is Patrick. 

Pete sits up in bed slowly, pushing the covers off and taking in the small details of the room that he’s trained himself to see. An indent on the other side of the mattress. Rectangular glasses on the other nightstand. Okay, so there’s someone else -  not a spouse, judging by Pete’s bare left hand and empty nightstand.

_ Okay,  _ he tells himself.  _ Okay, you got this, you’ve done this before.  _

Pete gets out of bed and walks down the hall, passing a bathroom and a closed door that won’t open when he turns the handle. 

“Closet,” he reasons to himself before heading down the stairs to find a living room, kitchen and a small office. 

He instinctively heads towards the last room, stepping through the open door to find a desk with a computer and several notebooks. There’s a miniature placard in front of the computer that reads, “PETE WENTZ, SOON-TO-BE NYT BESTSELLING AUTHOR.”

Okay, so he’s a writer. Pete can totally get behind this, actually. He sits down in the comfy swivel chair and turns the computer on. 

Luckily, there’s no password, and the file called  _ newest draft 3/9  _ is already open. Pete starts reading immediately, and it’s… familiar, almost, even though he knows he’s never read this before. 

It’s a love letter, that much is clear, hidden in the narrative of an astronaut and his terminally ill husband flying off to spend the latter’s final days out in space. Pete doesn’t know who it’s for yet, so when he reaches the end he picks it up in the key of Patrick, Patrick, Patrick. He’s written four chapters by the time the front door opens. 

“Pete?” a voice calls. It sounds the way a wool blanket feels, low and scratchy but still pleasant. “I’m home!”

“Hey!” Pete replies. He gets up from the desk hesitantly; he got sidetracked writing and now has no idea to treat this person. 

That’s when a short man steps into the office doorway, and Pete’s heart stops for too many reasons for him to even  _ begin  _ processing.

The first thing Pete notices is his eyes. They’re  _ Patrick’s  _ eyes, unmistakably so, and they’re staring at him from a tan face that’s all soft edges and smiles and dark, curly hair, and it’s obviously not Patrick, but… the eyes.

The second thing Pete notices is that hey, this guy is  _ cute.  _ (Especially the fucking eyes, but Pete’s trying really hard not to dwell on that right now.)

“Pete? You good, babe? You look… mildly terrified.”

“I’m good!” Pete squeaks out. “Sorry, I was just, um, really in the zone. Of writing. You know. Because I’m an author. So I write.”

The guy’s face relaxes into a wide grin. “That’s awesome! I’m glad you finally got over that writer’s block.” He steps over, wrapping an arm around Pete’s waist so casually that it must be a common thing, and presses a kiss to Pete’s cheek. 

“Yeah, me too,” Pete says. He’s casting his eyes around as subtly as possible for a name when he realizes that, oh, hey, the guy’s literally wearing a name tag. 

_ Milden Music School,  _ it reads in small print over much larger letters that say…

Fuck. The guy’s name is  _ Rick.  _

“Oh my god,” Pete whispers, and it’s not like it always is in books - he’s well aware that he’s saying it out loud. He’s also well aware that he should  _ not  _ be saying it out loud. 

“What?”  _ Rick  _ asks, sounding genuinely concerned, and Jesus Christ, he’s already too fucking nice. 

“I, uh… I just had an idea. For my book. So I’m gonna go write that.” Pete slips out of Rick’s arms and ducks back into the office. This is too fucking much. 

“Okay!” Rick says. “Don’t forget it’s Friday, though. I mean, like, I’m fine cooking alone if you’re ‘in the zone,’ but we  _ are  _ making pizza, you know.”

It takes Pete a second to get his brain away from “pizza!” and put it back on the track of “hey, Rick probably just said something important!”

_ Okay, he said it’s Friday, and that he specifically doesn’t mind cooking alone… so maybe we cook together on Fridays? _

“Oh, this shouldn’t take long, I’ll be free to cook,” Pete assures him, hoping against hope that he’s actually figured it out.

Rick smiles, and the way his eyes crinkle up is so painfully close to  _ PatrickPatrickPatrick  _ that Pete has to turn away. 

“I’ll let you work then, babe, let me know whenever you’re done.”

“Uh-huh,” Pete says. He sits down at the desk and acts like he’s typing intently, even though he’s really just typing out a series of increasingly blurry nonsense  words and praying that Rick doesn’t seem him wipe his eyes a few seconds later. 

_ Fuck. _

* * *

 

If Pete closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that it’s Patrick curled up behind him in bed that night. But he can’t let himself do that. He keeps his eyes open and fixed on the hand draped across his chest, and the small tattoo of a house, one window warmly lit, on Rick’s wrist keeps Pete from… god, Pete doesn’t even know. 

Crying, maybe, or screaming, or turning around and kissing Rick until neither of them can breathe.

The clock on Rick’s bedside table beeps as it blinks to 12:00am, and Pete sighs. Another day without Patrick - and even though there’s no denying that Pete’s actually kinda comfortable right now, he misses Patrick so fucking much that it hurts.  

* * *

 

Pete wakes up the next morning to the sound of Rick stubbing his toe on the corner of the dresser and subsequently shouting in pain. 

“Rick? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, just - I forgot, Lynn said she was coming early this week, and I gotta go meet her, be back in a minute.” He rushes out of the room without looking back, still hobbling slightly. 

“Uh, okay?” Pete says to the empty room. Who the fuck is Lynn?

A minute later, voices filter up the stairs. Pete recognizes Rick’s, but there’s a high-pitched, excited one and a soft, stern one that Pete can’t place. 

He gets out of bed and walks over to the stairs, leaning over the railing to see Rick talking to a short, dark-haired woman while a girl of about six or seven tugs at his shirt. 

“– don’t want to bring this up again, Rick, but I need to know that you’re  _ here _ ,” the woman is saying. 

“I know, I’m sorry, I’m just getting used to your new schedule,” Rick says, voice just this side of snapping. He turns to the girl next to him and says, “Jackie, hon, do you want to go ask Pete to help you get some breakfast? He’s upstairs.”

“Okay!” she says, and Pete quickly ducks away from the railing so it’s not obvious that he’s been eavesdropping. Okay, well, this is just  _ great.  _ He has no idea who this kid is or even where anything is in Rick’s kitchen. Fucking  _ great.  _

The kid - Jackie, Rick had called her - bounds up the stairs a second later. “Pete!” she says. “Can we make pancakes?”

“Yeah, of course!” Pete lets her pull him downstairs, and even though he’s kind of freaking out because he has no fucking clue where he fits into anything that’s going on right now, this is kind of nice. Jackie’s cute, and Pete genuinely likes hanging out with kids - they take up so much of his attention that he barely has time to think about Patrick.

Pete and Jackie work together to find pancake mix and the griddle, Jackie filling the kitchen with constant chatter about first grade and her mom’s new cat and everything under the sun as they do so.

Rick comes in just as Pete’s pouring the first cup of batter onto the griddle. “Hey!” he says, dropping a kiss onto Pete’s cheek. “Sorry I passed her right off to you, Lynn was being a bit of a witch with a b this morning.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s just questioning my parenting skills again. Do you want coffee?”

“Is that even a question?” (Pete honestly doesn’t know how he’s functioning without caffeine right now. It must be the whole ‘in another life’ adrenaline, or - ) “Hey, Jackie, don’t touch the griddle,” Pete adds quickly, grabbing her wrist gently and thanking  _ fuck  _ for peripheral vision.

Rick shoots Pete a grateful smile as he switches the coffee maker on. “So, I don’t have any classes today, do you want to go to the aquarium, Jackie?”

“YES!” Jackie literally shrieks. “Is Pete coming?”

“If he’s not too busy writing,” Rick says, inflecting it like a question.

Pete… actually wants to say yes. He’s known Rick and Jackie for half a day and thirty minutes, respectively, but they’ve both already grown on him more than anyone has in a long time. But no, he  _ can’t _ , because he has to look for Patrick.

“Maybe next time, okay, kiddo?” Pete says as he gently ruffles Jackie’s hair. She pouts until Pete serves her a plate of pancakes, and then he’s clearly forgiven. “Rick, do you want me to make you a plate?”

Rick stops where he’s pouring coffee and gives Pete a  _ what?  _ look. “Pete, what the heck, you know I haven’t eaten a pancake since my childhood best friend choked and died while eating one.” 

_ Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.  _ “Uh-” Pete says, scrambling for an excuse, and then Rick fucking  _ laughs.  _

“Oh my god, babe, I’m kidding. I always forget that jokes don’t work with you before coffee.” Rick passes Pete a warm mug, still laughing a little. “I’d love some pancakes.”

Pete’s pretty sure that he’s never been more relieved in his  _ life, _ Jesus Christ. He takes a sip of coffee so he doesn’t have to answer and lets his heart rate slowly come down, pretending that it only sped up because of the scare and not because of anything about Rick’s eyes.

* * *

 

Pete’s just setting the table when Rick and Jackie come in, voices mingling with the smell of the spaghetti Pete’s cooked and fuck, for a second Pete’s sense all seem to say “home?”

_ No,  _ he reminds himself as he greets them and serves dinner,  _ Patrick is home.  _ Patrick, who doesn’t seem to exist in this universe according to Pete’s searching so far,  _ Patrick  _ is home. Not these people that Pete met literally yesterday, Jesus Christ. 

“So, did you get any writing done?” Rick asks.

Pete shrugs as he sits down at the table. “Some, not as much as I would’ve liked, but you know how it goes. How was the aquarium?”

“It was  _ amazing, _ ” Jackie says emphatically. “Pete, Pete, Pete, they had sharks!”

“Sharks?” Pete gasps in his special Enthusiastic-About-Whatever-This-Child-Is-Saying voice. “Oh my god, how big were they?”

This sends Jackie off on a long, increasingly louder shark-ramble, and Rick gives Pete an amused glance. 

“You’ll have to tag along next time,” he says quietly. “You should’ve heard her - the whole day, it was ‘I’ve gotta tell Pete about this’ and ‘I’ve gotta tell Pete about that.’” 

“Aw,” Pete says, unable to help smiling as little. “Well, I’ll definitely have to come next time.” (If there is a next time, of course, because as far as Pete’s concerned, he’s finding Patrick and leaving as soon as possible.)

“Hey, did you do something different with the spaghetti tonight? It’s really good, it just tastes different than usual,” Rick says. 

Pete just barely manages to keep himself from freezing. “Uh, yeah, actually I added more basil than usual.” He obviously doesn’t add that he only did that because that’s how Patrick makes spaghetti and that it’s therefore one of Pete’s favorite things ever.

“I like it,” Rick muses with a smile, and god, Pete’s still not over his fucking eyes.

Jackie’s yawning by the end of dinner, only a few minutes later, leaning forward on the table and almost letting her hair fall into the sauce. 

“Alright, Jacks, let’s go get you into bed,” Rick says. 

“I don’t  _ wanna _ ,” she protests, but her words are followed by a yawn that has Rick scooping her up and carrying her upstairs.

“I’ll clean up,” Pete calls after them. He feels irrationally out of place, like he should know where he fits in here, which is stupid because how would he? And yet, he kind of wants to stay to figure it out - this is the happiest he’s been in god knows how long.

But no, no, he can’t, because Patrick is still out there and Pete has to find him because as nice as this might be, Pete knows he’s never really going to be happy without Patrick.

* * *

 

Pete’s not sure if he’s actually awake when he opens his eyes the next morning - the sound of Patrick’s voice is still echoing from his dream, and _wait._ That’s not a dream. Patrick’s voice is unmistakably drifting up the stairs and into the bedroom where Pete now realizes he’s alone. 

Pete’s running in seconds, slipping slightly as he follows the voice down the hallway, down the stairs, and into the living room to find Rick. 

It’s not Patrick. It’s  _ Rick _ singing in a perfect mimic of Patrick’s voice,  _ Rick  _ swinging Jackie around in perfect time with fucking Prince.

Cliche of cliches, Pete can’t breathe. His heart doesn’t stop so much as spontaneously combust in his chest, sending tiny shards of damaged cells splintering into all of his major organs. That’s  _ Patrick’s  _ voice, that’s  _ Patrick,  _ Patrick, who should be here right now and  _ fuck. _

“Pete? Come dance!”

That’s Jackie’s voice, shit, she’s seen him and this is clearly not the best time for a breakdown. Pete doesn’t trust his voice right now, but he manages to force a smile and step over to her and Rick.

Rick passes Jackie over and Pete scoops her up, singing along in what he hopes passes as a voice on the verge of laughter, not tears. It’s … it’s damn near impossible, if he’s honest, to keep his knees from buckling when he squeezes his eyes shut and there’s nothing telling his senses Patrick won’t be there when he opens them again. 

It’s too much; Pete chokes a little over the next line, and Rick shoots him a  _ You okay? _ glance. 

Pete manages to avoid eye contact with Rick until the song ends and he can gently set Jackie back down on the ground, swallowing hard and putting on his best smile. “Hey, I was thinking about going to pick up some donuts from that shop down the street, does that sound good to you guys?”

“YES!” Jackie shrieks, already jumping back onto Pete and grabbing at his arm. “Can you pretty please get the rainbow sprinkle kind?”

“Totally!” Pete says. “Rick, do you want anything?”

He shakes his head, says something about coffee that Pete really doesn’t process, and then Pete’s on his way to a small but busy cafe he saw online last night while he was researching the town he’s ended up in.

It’s luckily in walking distance, so he doesn’t have the learning curve of an unfamiliar car and he can spend the walk searching the sidewalks around him for Patrick and learning how to breathe again. 

Okay, so Rick has Patrick’s eyes  _ and  _ voice. That’s fucking great. Whatever fucking power of the universe that’s caused all of this apparently thought it would be a great idea to just completely kill Pete.  _ Great.  _

Pete honestly hadn’t realized just how badly he’d missed Patrick’s voice until this morning. (You don’t know what you got until it’s five feet in front of you and wearing the wrong smile.) And now? Fuck. Just - fuck.

* * *

 

The next two months are, for lack of better words, best described by Charles Dickens.

It’s the best of times because Pete learns how to calm Jackie down from her temper tantrums and watches her blow out candles on her seventh birthday and learns the art of sitting through _Beauty and the Beast_ twice in one day to make her smile. It’s the best of times because Pete gets into a routine of writing every day, half working on the manuscript he found on the first day and half working on a list of every life he’s lived in the hopes that a map to Patrick will unfold itself in the names of significant others and small towns, and because he learns the ins and outs of life with Rick, where they cook dinner together every Friday night and order pizza every Sunday. It’s the best of times because Pete gets to lie in bed at night and close his eyes and pretend it’s Patrick singing him to sleep.

It’s also the  _ worst  _ of times because Pete gets to lie in bed at night and close his eyes and pretend it’s Patrick singing him to sleep. It’s the worst of times because Pete has to wake up every morning and realize that it’s not Patrick wrapped around him and because every passing day and every database and every people-watching session yields absolutely no sign of Patrick. 

It’s the bestworst two months of Pete’s lives. The ache of missing Patrick waxes and wanes like the moon in the way it only does when a life lasts this long, some days a constant physical burn and some days nothing more than a thought that sits in the corner just waiting to trip Pete up every couple of minutes. 

It’s learning to stop flinching with surprise when Rick touches him, learning to initiate arms slung over shoulders on the couch to make the worry lines at the edges of Rick’s ( _ Patrick’s)  _ eyes fade. It’s picking Jackie up when she crashes on her new bike, picking Rick up when he comes home from work exhausted. It’s spending a little more time working on the love letter with a dedication that sometimes seems perfectly clear and a little less time coding his way into government databases. 

Patrick’s not here and it hurts but sometimes Rick can make it feel okay. Pete’s kissed him now, a couple of times, nothing more than that because it feels too much like cheating, but it’s still enough to twist knots of guilt in his stomach late at night. 

Nights are the hardest, because they’re when the guilt creeps in and silence falls over the house and Pete can’t drown out the audible absence of Patrick with Jackie’s laughter or Rick’s singing. But night after night passes without fail, and two months slip through Pete’s fingers before he even really notices how fast time is moving.

* * *

 

“Oh, and don’t forget about Monday - I should be back Sunday night, but if I’m not, you just have to take Jackie to school because I asked Lynn to pick her up from there, and -“

“Rick,” Pete says, placing a hand on Rick’s shoulder that only feels a little unnatural. “I’ve got it, okay? Don’t worry, it’s only a weekend.”

“I know, I just -“ Rick inhales slowly and closes his eyes. (It’s so different from Patrick when he’s stressed, god, Pete misses the soft  _ huff  _ of annoyance and the perfectly on-beat foot tapping that used to drive everyone in the band crazy.) “No, you’re right. It’s only a weekend. It’ll be fine.”

“Exactly,” Pete assures him. “Now get going so you don’t have to worry about traffic.”

Rick readjusts the duffel bag hanging from his shoulder and nods, mostly to himself. “Alright. Be back Sunday, then. I love you.”

He leans in to kiss Pete, lips chapped (Patrick’s were always impossibly soft), and Pete just closes his eyes and kisses back. It’s fine. He’s just playing his part, especially as he says, “Love you too.”

Rick steps away and through the door, waving to Pete one last time before he gets in his car and begins the two hour drive to the conference he’s attending. Pete turns away as soon as he leaves the driveway, taking a deep breath to steady himself as he heads upstairs to see what Jackie’s up to. 

“Hey, kiddo, you about ready for lunch?” he asks, raising his voice slightly so she can hear over her clumsy attempts at playing “Baa Baa Black Sheep” on her miniature keyboard.

“No, I’m practicing,” she says in a tone far too haughty for her seven years. “Maybe later.”

“If you come now, we can watch TV while we eat?” Pete offers, because Jesus Christ, it’s been  _ two minutes  _ since Rick left, and he does  _ not  _ want to start a trend of temper tantrums already. 

Jackie pauses for a moment to consider. “Can we have the mac n cheese with the cool shapes?”

Pete has  _ no _ idea if they even have any of her favorite SpongeBob pasta left, but fuck it, they can run to the grocery store if they need to. “We sure can, but only if you come eat lunch now.”

“Hm. Okay,“ she agrees reluctantly, switching her keyboard off and darting down the stairs. 

By the time Pete reaches the kitchen, she’s already waving a box of mac n cheese (thank God) and chattering about how she wants to watch “football, Pete, because David from my class says football is the most important sport, and he’s the smartest kid, so I  _ know  _ he’s right.”

“What about we watch soccer?” Pete suggests. “It’s way cooler, you know.”

Jackie’s skeptical, but Pete talks her around by the time the mac n cheese is finished cooking. They sit on the floor of the living room (“Don’t tell your dad I’m letting you eat in here,” Pete says, even though he has a feeling Rick wouldn’t mind.  _ Patrick  _ wouldn’t mind, at least, and honestly, it’s hard to see the difference there sometimes) and watch reruns of a game that aired earlier in the week. The familiar voices of the announcers are good white noise for Pete to focus on as he slips into his head just a bit, just enough to let himself finally wrap his head around his current situation. 

This is… well, it’s weird. It’s kind of terrifying to be in charge of Jackie all by himself, even if it’s just for a weekend. Pete’s still not entirely convinced that he doesn’t poison everyone he touches, no matter what countless therapists have said, and what’s worse is that he doesn’t even have his mom for back-up if he manages to make a terrible childcare-related mistake. 

And fuck, if that’s not another fucking can of worms he’s been trying not to open. Pete snorts slightly to himself at the image of his brain just being filled with shelves upon shelves of canned goods, every label reading “DO NOT OPEN.” The distraction lasts a second before he’s thinking about his mom again. 

Obviously, Pete hasn’t spoken to her in who knows how many lives. And sure, he’s gone weeks without speaking to her before, but… this is different. This, these lives, whatever  _ this  _ is, it’s the first time that she and everyone else in Pete’s life haven’t been just a phone call away. He tries not to think about it, of course, because being away from Patrick is hard enough, but -

But he misses his mom and he misses Andy and Joe and he misses Gabe and he misses being in Fall Out Boy and he misses everything that he had before and - Pete closes his eyes, cuts himself off. He can’t do this right now. Jackie’s sitting next to him, making a steady stream of observations about the game and playing with her empty Capri Sun pouch, and Pete needs to be  _ here  _ for that.

Pete tries to tune back into the world, he really does, but his head is already swimming with a new realization. Since when does he need to be  _ here  _ for everything? This isn’t real (probably, jury’s still out on that), and besides, the only thing that matters is finding Patrick. Everything beyond that is just a red herring, just a distraction placed to keep Pete from reaching Patrick and making everything okay. 

Except, somehow, that’s not what it feels like this time. Rick and Jackie feel  _ real,  _ the connections Pete’s made over the past two months are  _ real,  _ and somehow, Pete hasn’t even attempted to do anything to look for Patrick today. Fuck. 

“Pete, I want more mac n cheese, please!” Jackie says, tugging on the sleeve of Pete’s shirt a little to get his attention. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Pete stammers out. He takes the bowl she’s holding out to him and walks into the kitchen on complete autopilot. What the  _ fuck  _ is he doing? He hasn’t looked for Patrick today, and now that he thinks about it, he didn’t look yesterday either. He’s been so busy getting ready to watch Jackie this weekend that he almost… fuck. He practically  _ forgot  _ until just now. 

Pete scoops the last of the mac n cheese into the bowl and brings it back to Jackie with an only slightly shaky hand.

“Thanks!” she chirps, beaming at him before turning her attention back to the TV.

Pete nods slowly in acknowledgment, even though it’s pretty much useless since she’s obviously not paying attention. In reality, he knows he shouldn’t be beating himself up over this. He’s been here for almost as long as his longest “life” to date had lasted (three months) and he’s obviously spent a lot of time with Rick and Jackie. It’s perfectly reasonable for him to have gotten distracted for a couple days. 

It’s just… it’s a revelation. Even in some of his longer past lives, Pete’s never been this  _ involved  _ before. Most of the others that have surpassed a month were fairly solitary, save one with a sweet dog he’d hated to leave. It’s just really fucking weird to think about how this life feels completely different, somehow, and how there’s been absolutely no hints of Patrick anywhere. 

It’s a revelation, and it’s weird, and it’s more than a little terrifying, and there’s no time for it, apparently, because Jackie decides just then that she wants to bake cookies. 

“Can we  _ please _ make some? The kind that look like stars?”

Pete has no idea what kind of cookie she’s talking about, of course, but having no idea is kind of the status quo at this point. “Yeah! C’mon, let’s go find the ingredients, okay?”

* * *

When the phone starts ringing the next morning, Pete is pretty sure that his head might actually explode. Jackie’s been screaming for Rick all morning, the Disney music Pete put on in a (failed) attempt to placate Jackie is doing nothing but making his headache worse, and to top it all off, the smoke alarm in the living room is beeping every minute because it decided that today, apparently, was the best time to run out of battery life. The phone is really just the fucking icing on the cake.

The mental image of the phone getting thrown through the wall is tempting, needless to say, but Pete forces himself to take a deep breath and answer it, because - well. He doesn’t want to admit even then the possibility to himself, but - what if it’s Patrick?

Pete’s head and heart are both pounding as he lifts the phone from its cradle and says, “Hello?”

“Hello! You’ve just won a free cruise on -“

The slam of the phone back into its cradle only makes the ache in Pete’s head spike. He hadn’t realized how much he’d really been hoping for Patrick’s fucking voice to be on the other end until it just  _ wasn’t. _

“Was Dad calling?” Jackie says, skidding into the kitchen, her attempts at kicking the living room floor to summon Rick abandoned. 

Pete pinches the bridge of his nose. It makes his headache worse. “No, it was a wrong number.”

“But-“ 

Seeing Jackie’s face start to shift into a frown again, Pete quickly adds, “Dad’s going to be home really soon, though, do you wanna watch a movie while we wait? You can pick which one.”

_ Frozen  _ doesn’t help Pete’s headache, necessarily, but it keeps Jackie quiet enough for him to find batteries to fix the goddamn smoke alarm. 

He crashes on the couch afterwards, unable to help smiling a little when Jackie immediately starts pointing out why he needs to “look at this part, Pete! It’s the coolest!” every five seconds. It’s … nice, honestly, in the same way that pretty much everything with Rick and Jackie has been, in the way that it almost makes the ache in Pete’s chest hurt a little less. The key word there, of course, is  _ almost _ , and if that word happens to disappear for a second when Rick gets home and catches Pete in a warm hug later that night, well - no one has to know.

* * *

 

_ "The Notebook, _ " Pete tells the still-opening door, "is a bullshit movie."

Rick steps into the living room with a worn smile. "Do I want to know why you're watching Nicholas Sparks, babe?"

_ Oh, just because I had a dream about my actual boyfriend last night and now my heart's fucking broken again and I need an excuse to cry.  _ "Uh, probably not. Wanna join?"

"Sure," Rick says, sliding off his jacket and hanging it onto one of the hooks that Pete hung up by the door last week. (Pete's not usually that big on organization, but seeing everyone's coats and jackets on the floor all the time got on his nerves. So now there are three hooks, one with an R, one with a J, and one with a P. Pete's been trying not to think about any of the implications all of that holds.)  "What part are you at?"

Pete gestures to the screen with one hand, indicating the beginning of the credits. "I was gonna watch  _ A Walk To Remember _ next, keep the Sparks trend going."

"Sounds like a plan," Rick says. He sits down on the couch and drops his head onto Pete's shoulder. "A weird plan, but a plan."

"Look, babe, sometimes you just have to cry over a couple of chick flicks," Pete explains as he deletes the recording of  _ The Notebook  _ and starts  _ A Walk To Remember. _

Rick snorts softly. "Fair enough."

Pete tries not to feel guilty about the way the pet name just slipped from his lips as the movie starts and he and Rick drift into silence. He mostly succeeds until Rick sits up slightly and Pete falls onto  _ his _ shoulder and for once, Pete doesn't move away.

The movie plays on, and Pete still doesn't move away. In fact, he moves closer, almost without realizing, dropping his head into Rick's lap as Rick leans against the arm of the couch. There's guilt swirling in Pete's stomach, because as similar as it might feel when Pete closes his eyes, it's not Patrick lying under him and it's not Patrick's arm coming up to rest around him and Patrick's not here and it's wrong but - but the guilt isn't as strong as it usually is.

"I miss Jackie," Rick says suddenly. "I know we just had her for two weeks, but... it's really fucking quiet now. And she's not coming back until the end of the month."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Pete says, and he actually does. The week-with/week-without schedule was thrown off by Lynn's vacation plans last week, and now fourteen quiet days stretch out in front of him and Rick. It's almost strange to realize how much he misses Jackie’s incessant chatter.

"Yeah," Rick says. He breathes in shakily, then, "I just - God, I always think I'm used to it until something like this happens."

Pete sits up and takes Rick's hand in his own (it's cold, Patrick's are always just-this-side-of-uncomfortably warm). "Hey, it's gonna be okay. She'll be back before you know it, and hey, at least you don't have to listen to anything about how _ Frozen _ would totally be better if everyone was a dinosaur for a little bit."

Rick wipes his eyes with one hand as he chuckles. "Yeah, you're right. I love her imagination, just not at seven am."

Pete laughs softly, and then - he's not sure who starts it, honestly, who leans in first - but then he and Rick are kissing. The forgotten movie is winding to a close in the background as their laughter fades and the kiss becomes something deeper, more serious, more than Pete's given anyone in countless lives.

And Pete knows he should feel guilty, still isn't sure if his actions in these worlds really count as cheating but doesn't really want to find out, knows he should stop this, but - he doesn't. He lets Rick push him back into the couch cushions, and well, it's all kind of a blur from there.

When Pete wakes up on the couch the next morning with Rick wrapped around him, it takes one hour and two cups of coffee before Patrick crosses his mind.

* * *

 

An entire year has passed before Pete even registers the time. He and Rick celebrate a four year anniversary (which, holy shit, that’s a  _ long  _ time, almost as long as Pete had with Patrick before all this started) that Pete is thankful he saw on the calendar, and Pete only spends half of the day sick to his stomach with guilt. Holidays come and go and Pete finds himself slotting into the new traditions easily, almost happily. The year shouldn’t feel as fast as it does, but somehow, the time seems to pass in a blink.

It’s just that things are so  _ easy  _ here, now. Pete has Rick’s takeout and Starbucks orders memorized, he knows the best order for Jackie’s bedtime stories, he knows the roads of this tiny town almost as well as he knows Chicago. Everything about the the way his desk has become overrun with pictures of him, Rick, and Jackie screams that he’s in too deep, and everything about the way the words Pete spends his days writing mean  _ RickRickRick  _ more than  _ PatrickPatrickPatrick  _ means that maybe this really is it. 

The knife of missing Patrick has grown dull in this space, this space that has lasted longer than any of the “lives” Pete has lived before. Pete doesn’t know if that’s because of the time or because of the way the lines between Patrick and Rick blur sometimes, what with the names and the eyes and the singing and the way that Pete’s not sure if there’s the hint of a T in front of the name he calls some nights. 

Things are… good. That’s a word Pete hasn’t  _ meant  _ in a long time, but it’s true. Things with Rick are really, really good. It’s just that sometimes, they’re too good, they’re too perfect. It’s been longer than Pete can count since he got into one of those old blowout fights with Patrick, the kind that escalated into yelling and thrown phones and ended with angry sex and Pete finally feeling grounded.

So one night when Rick stops by Pete’s office and asks what he wants for dinner, well, it’s not that Pete’s trying to start a fight - but then again, maybe it is.

“I don’t care, I’m kind of fucking busy right now,” Pete snaps, and he hates seeing the way Rick’s face falls, confused, instead of getting angry like Patrick would.

Rick steps back slightly. “Oh, uh, okay, sorry to interrupt you, babe, I’ll just order a pizza then.”

“Yeah, sounds fucking great,” Pete says. He rolls his eyes for good measure, the frustration with the time and with himself and with Rick’s complacency starting to boil over.

Rick purses his lips, but doesn’t say anything else before leaving the office and shutting the door infuriatingly gently.

Pete scowls at the space he leaves, then back at the useless online phone book he’s staring at. He knows he’s being an asshole for no reason, but he just wants to get his actual fucking boyfriend back and he wants Rick to stop being so  _ perfect  _ and he wants to just accept that maybe this is his life now so he shouldn’t fuck it up.  _ Fuck.  _

Pete drops his head onto the keyboard with a heavy sigh. He’s been here for a year. That’s so much longer than any other of these lives have ever lasted, and he’s in so much deeper than he’s ever been before. It’s overwhelming, if he’s honest, because right now, he’s not sure if he could describe the exact shape of Patrick’s lips or hands, but he sure as hell knows  _ Rick’s.  _ But Rick’s not Patrick. Rick’s the fucking  _ Walmart  _ brand Patrick, okay, and Pete needs to remember that and not - 

“Hey, Pete? It’s okay if you want to keep working, but the pizza’s here if you want to come eat. Or I can bring you a slice, if you want?”

Goddamnit, why is he so  _ nice?  _

“I’ll come eat,” Pete says, standing up and pushing his chair into the desk with more force than necessary. He knows he needs to chill the fuck out, but he can’t quite bring himself to do it, not without getting at least a little bit of a rise out of Rick.

Rick offers him a cautious smile as they walk into the kitchen. Pete stubbornly ignores it. 

The tension remains heavy in the room as Pete and Rick both grab plates of pizza, Rick making sure to get a slice for Jackie, and sit down at the kitchen table. No one speaks for a long time - even Jackie seems to pick up on the concerned looks Rick’s giving Pete and the stony silence Pete’s giving him in return.

As they’re all cleaning up their plates, though, Jackie finally says, “Pete, did I tell you about the dinosaur I drew at school today? It’s bright green and sparkly and has laser eyes and - “

“Can you tell me later, Jacks? I’m  _ really  _ fucking tired right now.”

Okay, that one definitely wasn’t intentional and Pete feels bad for saying it immediately, but part of him still hopes that Rick will finally snap, will finally yell, just so Pete feels  _ normal  _ again.

But… he doesn’t. Rick’s frown deepens, but he seems tired more than anything else when Jackie says, “Daddy, what does fucking mean?”

“It’s a grown-up word, sweetie, don’t worry about it,” Rick says swiftly. “Hey, c’mon, it’s almost bedtime, let’s go get you in the bath.”

He leads Jackie up the stairs quickly, shooting a confused, worried,  _ but not fucking angry  _ expression at Pete as he goes.

Pete rubs his temples and stomps back into his office. He slams the door shut, his frustration with himself and Rick only getting worse and worse until Rick comes back downstairs nearly an hour later. 

He comes into the office without knocking, but his actions are slow and cautious. “Pete? You feeling any better?”

“No,” Pete says, turning his swivel chair pointedly away from the door. Is he acting like a five year old? Maybe. Does he care? Absolutely not.

Rick sighs, but he still doesn’t sound angry. “What’s wrong, babe? I get it if you’re frustrated with something, and I’m happy to talk about it if it’s something I did, but I’d really prefer if you didn’t take it out around Jackie.”

Pete opens his mouth to say something else snarky, a last-ditch attempt to make Rick  _ Patrick _ , but something about the uselessness of such an attempt clicks and what comes out is, “Shit, I know, I’m sorry, it’s nothing you did, I’m just -”

And then Pete just starts crying. 

Rick’s by his side in less than an instant. “Hey, hey, just breathe, Pete, it’s okay,” he says, crouching down just enough to wrap his arm around Pete’s shoulders and hold him close. “It’s okay, love.”

“I’m sorry,” Pete chokes out, and he wants to give some explanation but honestly, where would he even start?

“It’s okay,” Rick soothes, “we all get frustrated, I get it. I’m here for you, though, you know you can always talk to me about anything.”

Pete says, “I know,” and he’s almost surprised to find that he  _ does.  _ “Fuck, I just - I don’t know. I think maybe I just need a change of scenery right now, something like that.” (Read: “I need Patrick, I keep thinking I can do this without him, I keep pretending you can replace him but you’re not him, you’re amazing but you’re wrong, please please please help me find him.”

Rick presses a gentle kiss to Pete’s cheek. “We can totally do that, babe, we’ll plan a weekend trip or something when Lynn has Jackie if that’s what you want. Just - talk to me, you know? You don’t have to let it get to this point.”

“I know,” Pete says, drawing in a shaky, post-crying breath. He leans further into Rick’s touch and honestly isn’t sure whether or not he means it when he says, “I love you.”

* * *

 

After that whole “incident,” Pete tells himself that he needs to get his shit together and act like the boyfriend Rick deserves - it’s the least he can do. So he spends the next month repainting Jackie’s room, writing more of the draft he first found over a year ago, and only letting himself search for Patrick once a week  _ just in case  _ this life is really the end.

That part hurts the most, because every cell in Pete’s body protests every second spent without Patrick. Pete keeps busy in an attempt to ignore it, doesn’t think about Patrick or where he is or if he’s looking for Pete or anything related to Patrick at all.

It actually works sometimes. In fact, by the time Rick brings up Pete’s little episode again, Pete’s almost forgotten about it entirely. 

“Hey, babe,” Rick starts as they’re lying on the couch, half-intertwined and idly watching House Hunters. “Remember how a couple of weeks ago you were talking about needing change of scenery?”

“Yeah?” 

Pete can feel the way Rick smiles into his neck before Rick says, “Well, I talked to Lynn, and she said she can pick Jackie up early tomorrow, so I went ahead and booked us a cabin down by the beach for the weekend. If you don’t want to go, that’s fine, but I just thought - “

Pete cuts him off with a quick kiss. God, he doesn’t deserve Rick. “Oh my god, no, that sounds awesome.”

And the thing is, it actually  _ does.  _ Pete hasn’t been to the beach in god knows how many lives, and even though every milestone he shares with Rick feels like a step away from Patrick, he’s excited to go.

The preparations come easily, especially since Rick pretty much set everything up already, so all Pete has to do over the next day is pack his clothes and tell himself that it’s okay to be doing this. He’s starting to believe it by the time Lynn comes to pick Jackie up the night.

Rick’s in the shower when the doorbell rings, so Pete puts down the crayon he was using to help Jackie color a picture and goes to get the door. 

“Hi,” Pete says as he pulls the door open. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this feeling of  _ oh god have I met her before am I supposed to know her I can’t screw this up just keep it cool oh god,  _ and it’s almost worse because of the time.

The short woman in front of him gives him a tight, but not necessarily unfriendly smile. “Hi, Pete, long time no see.”

Pete laughs awkwardly, feeling only the slightest bit of relief now that he knows  _ something.  _ “Yeah, it’s certainly been a while. Uh, Rick’s in the shower, but Jackie’s all ready to go.”

When she hears her name, Jackie comes running down the hall, brandishing a piece of paper in her hands. “Pete, I drew you a picture!” she says. 

Pete takes the paper with a smile and a “thanks, kiddo,” before turning back to Lynn. “Um, I just wanted to say that I really appreciate you taking her early, me and Rick both do.”

“No problem,” Lynn says, and then she takes Jackie’s hand and leads her down the porch and out of sight.

Pete watches for a moment before shutting the door and looking at the paper Jackie had handed him. It’s a surprisingly clear drawing for both Jackie’s age and medium, and it feels like every cliche movie scene when the realization of what the drawing is hits him in the gut.

It’s a picture of Jackie standing between Lynn and Rick, labeled Mommy and Daddy respectively, and next to Rick is another figure with dark hair and a wide smile and tattoos and the word Pete written above its head. That wouldn’t hit so hard on its own, but next to Pete’s name is a scribbled out cloud with three still legible letters inside: dad. 

God, this is the textbook definition of In Too Deep. There’s a part of Pete that just wants to let this be the sweet moment that it is, but everything else screams that no, no, he can’t do this, he doesn’t know what happens to the people in the lives he’s dropped into after he leaves, and he’s definitely leaving this one. He  _ has  _ to. He can’t just give up on Patrick and -

Pete forces himself to take a deep breath. It’s going to be okay. He’s going to enjoy his weekend and not think about the hypothetical futures spiraling in front of him. It’s going to be okay, as long as he keeps telling himself that it will be. 

Rick comes downstairs a minute later, just as Pete’s hanging Jackie’s drawing on the fridge with a small magnet. “Jackie get picked up?” he asks.

Pete nods. “Yeah, Lynn just left. Jackie, uh - look what she drew.” He points to the drawing, specifically at the crossed out word above his crayon head.

“Oh, that’s so cute,” Rick says, and then he pauses, clearly noticing what Pete’s pointing out. “ _ Oh,  _ huh.” 

Over the past year, Pete likes to think that he’s gotten pretty good at reading Rick’s tone, but this one is completely foreign. Even his eyes (god, his  _ eyes _ ) are unreadable too.

“I mean, I guess after four years, we shouldn’t be too surprised, huh,” Rick finally says. 

“Yeah,” Pete agrees. 

They sit in silence for a moment, staring at the drawing, and then Rick clears his throat. “You about ready to go?”

Pete nods, and he tries to push the drawing and Rick’s strange reaction out of his mind as they pack the car up and start driving to the beach. 

It’s not a long or particularly traffic-heavy drive, thankfully, but sitting in the passenger seat watching the sun start to fall and cars pass feels a little too much like Before for Pete to relax. He and Rick exchange some banter about the bad driving of those around them and their plans for the weekend - a day and a half of relaxing, which sounds amazing right now. 

“Thanks so much for putting all this together,” Pete says as Rick pulls into the gravel driveway of the tiny cabin he’s rented. “I really think that this - oh my god, babe, this place is  _ adorable.” _

Rick switches the car off and smiles at Pete. “I’m glad you like it.”

They carry their bags inside fairly quickly, and the first thing Rick unpacks is a frozen pizza and a bottle of wine. “It’s Friday, so I figured we’d still cook together,” he explains, “if this even counts, I mean.”

Pete snorts. “Yeah, okay, sure, that counts.” 

Rick laughs a little and goes to preheat the oven. Pete watches him as he does, the realization of the reality of his current situation starting to set in just a little more than usual. God, what the fuck is he doing here? But then again - things actually aren’t too bad, so why does it  _ matter? _

Pete holds onto that sentiment as he starts rummaging through the drawers for a wine opener, as he and Rick have dinner, as they stumble, slightly tipsy, into the cozy bedroom and fall asleep. Pete’s pretty good at sleeping in unfamiliar places by now, but something - the gentle crash of the waves just down the street, the loud creaking of the mattress springs every time he or Rick shifts, the feeling that this life feels too tangible - keeps him up until three am.

* * *

 

“Okay, maybe it’s just that I had a little too much wine at dinner, but I’m pretty sure that this ocean is the literal prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” Pete says, waving a hand out over the bluegray expanse like Rick wouldn’t know what he’s talking about. 

Rick catches Pete’s hand before he can drop it back to his side and gives it a gentle squeeze. “It’s not as pretty as you,” he says in that half-joking, half-completely sincere voice that Pete’s come to know and maybe even love a little bit. 

“Aw, babe,” Pete says, interlocking his fingers with Rick’s and letting their hands fall in the small space between them. “Hey, there’s some chairs over there, do you want to go watch the sunset?”

“I was just about to suggest that, actually,” Rick says. He laughs softly, but there’s a strange quality to it that Pete can’t quite place. “Let’s go.”

They walk further down the small pier that juts out from their cabin’s street and sit in two wooden chairs facing out towards the water. Rick doesn’t let go of Pete’s hand, and Pete doesn’t let go of Rick’s. For a long moment, they don’t speak. The waves crash gently under the pier, and a small flock of gulls flies overhead. Pete thinks that if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s still lying to Rick, that Patrick is still gone, that this might actually be something close to perfect.

“This - dinner, this weekend, everything - it’s been amazing,” Pete finally says. He tears his eyes away from the water to watch Rick, who’s already staring at him, gaze soft and relaxed and happy. “Thank you.”

Rick blushes slightly, like he’s embarrassed to have been caught staring at Pete. “You don’t have to thank me, babe.”

“I know,” Pete says, “but still. Thanks.

He shifts in his chair slightly, trying to figure out a way that he can angle his body to rest his head on Rick’s shoulder, but when he finally figures it out and goes to lean over, Rick’s shoulder… isn’t there. 

Pete sits up quickly, almost losing his balance, heart beating fastfastfast, and then he sees what’s happening.

Rick’s shoulder wasn’t there because Rick was leaning forward, rummaging in his pocket, and now he’s standing, and moving in front of Pete’s chair, and now he’s sinking down onto one knee.

Pete can’t breathe.

He puts his hands up to his face, hoping against hope that he can figure out a way around this, that maybe he has grossly misunderstood the situation, that Rick has just dropped something on the ground, and -

And Rick starts speaking.

“Pete,” he says, voice shaky and unsure in that way that Pete now realizes has been the sound of  _ I’m Going To Propose Soon Anxiety. _ Fuck. He should’ve seen this coming. “Pete, I… well, when I met you, I had no idea that we would end up anywhere close to here. You’re amazing, you’re beautiful, you’re kind of the best person I’ve ever met. And I - after everything that happened with Lynn, you know, I was so afraid that I could never…. that I’d never have something like this. Like you. And I am so, so thankful for every moment that I’ve gotten to spend with you. And - and I had more of this written, but you know I’m not as good at words as you, so just -”

Rick takes a deep breath and opens the small box he’s clutching in his slightly shaking hands. Pete wishes he could also do the former, but his chest is tight and every rational neuron he has is screaming at him to just take this chance. He’s about to open his mouth and blurt something, anything, he doesn’t know what yet, but then Rick continues.

“Um, like I said, Pete, I am just beyond thankful for every moment I’ve had with you, and I - I really want to have more. So, without further ado, I guess - will you marry me?

Time stops, for a moment. The last rays of the setting sun’s light glint off of the diamond in Rick’s hands. The sound of the waves is replaced with the sound of the blood rushing in Pete’s ears.  _ Yes  _ dangles in front of him, behind his teeth, and he knows it will be the very definition of bittersweet on his tongue. A future flashes before him, in the light of the diamond - an altar, vows, everything he and Patrick hadn’t quite reached, a new placard on his desk, the word Jackie once scribbled out now proud on the fridge, a promised eternity, a  _ life _ . It’s all there. It’s all possible. This could be the last life and it could be so, so good for just one word. One word that means leaving Patrick behind but one word that means a home. One word that means choosing to let go of god knows how many lives but one word that means that this could all stop. It’s there, it’s on the tip of Pete’s tongue, the lightest weight he’s ever held there, and time unfreezes.

Pete lowers his hands, opens his mouth, takes in the deepest breath he might have ever taken, and turns and vomits over the side of the pier. 

Rick jumps into action immediately, because of course he does, he’s _ Rick _ , and wraps an arm around Pete’s shoulders. “Oh my god, Pete, I’m so sorry, are you okay? Fuck, I - god, I didn’t mean to - are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pete says, brushing his hair back and trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. He thinks he might actually be approaching it when he sees the tiny box dropped onto the pier, the diamond’s glint and any possibility of reconciling this situation lost as the sun slips under the horizon, and then whatever words he was going to say are replaced with a sob.

Rick’s arms are completely around him a second later, gently guiding him back into his chair and murmuring soft, worried apologies.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Pete insists. “I - fuck. Fuck, this is all my fault. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I -” He breaks off, inhaling slowly and trying to count to ten the way his old therapists used to tell him to. Once he can breathe again, he forces himself to look at Rick - Rick, whose whole face is creased with worry, who is doing an excellent job of remaining composed given the circumstances, who has been nothing but absolutely fucking wonderful and kind to Pete since he woke up here over a year ago,  _ Rick _ \- and say, “There’s, um, there’s something I need to tell you.”

When Pete starts talking, it’s more a floodgate being absolutely obliterated than opened, and he keeps going and going until the murky waters of his past lives are lapping at his and Rick’s shoulders. Rick is quiet while Pete speaks, his eyes fixed on the ground and his fingers idly running over the box he slid back into his pocket. 

It takes nearly ten minutes after Pete stops, ten minutes of Pete wondering how long he has until he’s shipped off to the psych ward, but Rick finally opens his mouth. Surprisingly, he doesn’t sound like he’s accusing Pete of lying. There must have been something in Pete’s monologue that ran true, and Pete’s so, so thankful that the universe has given him this one easy moment. “How … how long has it been?” Rick says. “Since you got here?”

Rick’s voice is hoarse, and Pete thinks he might get sick again. “Um. A little over a year.”

A sharp inhale, then - “When exactly?”

“Do you remember that night… um, we made pizza, it was a Friday. And I was probably acting a little weird? Oh, it was the night before the morning when Lynn dropped Jackie off super early, and, uh, yeah.” Pete sees the way Rick blinks when he mentions Lynn and Jackie and wonders if Rick just had the same thought he did - why is he saying their names? He has no right to. He’s a fake, an impostor.

But Rick doesn’t acknowledge that. Pete feels like he’s waiting for Rick to snap, to get angry, to kick Pete out for all of the lies and the deceit, but his voice is still just measured when he says, “Yeah, I remember.”

A light wind starts somewhere out on the water and comes in to brush across their faces. Pete chances a glance over at Rick in the darkness and is thankful that he can’t see anything other than a silhouette before he quickly looks away. 

Another minute passes before Rick says, “You, uh. You really loved -  _ love _ him, huh. Patrick.”

It’s a miracle that Pete’s voice is audible when he says, “Yeah.” He inhales quickly before continuing, “Rick, look, I’m - I’m so sorry. If I had known, if I could forget him, if I could’ve just - I wouldn’t have -“

“Don’t apologize,” Rick murmurs. He reaches out and grabs Pete’s hand, and the way his fingers dig in just a little too tightly feels like he’s trying to verify that Pete is real. “You did the best thing you could’ve.”

“I’m still sorry,” Pete insists. “This wasn’t fair to you.”

“This hasn’t been fair to you either, though,” Rick points out. His voice is still hoarse, rough, and somehow during the conversation he’s leaned in close. “Pete, fuck, can I -“

Pete pulls away, shakes his head. “We’re both going to regret it if we do, I think - let’s just go inside, okay?” 

Pete stands on unsure legs and goes to help Rick up as well, but Rick drops his hand almost immediately. They walk back up the pier, back up the street, and back into the cabin in silence. 

“I can take the couch if you want,” Pete says once they’ve both finished changing into sleep clothes. It’s barely even ten o’clock, but it’s clear that the night is over. 

Rick shakes his head. “No, no, it’s fine, we’ve already shared a bed plenty of times, right?”

It doesn’t sound as light-hearted as it should. Pete doesn’t really answer, because what do you  _ say,  _ and they get into bed. It seems like that’s going to be it for the night, Pete turning away and staying as far on the edge of the bed as possible, every cell weighed down with guilt from every lie he’s told in the past year, but then Rick says, “How much… has anything been true?”

Pete closes his eyes, wishes he could close his ears. “I… I love you, Rick, that’s true, I just - I don’t love you like Pa - like him.”

Patrick’s name feels forbidden in this space; it’s as if saying his name right now will be the one thing that will make Rick lose it in a way Pete can’t believe he hasn’t yet.  But Rick says nothing.

After several beats, Pete exhales, long and slow and shaky with the lump building in his throat. He doesn’t fall asleep until the sun begins to peek through the curtains.

* * *

 

When Pete wakes up later that morning, it takes a moment for last night to come rushing back in. Fuck. He told Rick  _ everything  _ \- his real life, with the band and Patrick, and every life since, and  _ PatrickPatrickPatrick.  _

Pete sighs and rolls over, unsurprised when he sees that where Rick once was, there’s now just a slight indentation in the mattress. Rick probably hates him now, honestly, even if he acted calm last night.  _ Fuck.  _ Pete’s willing to bet that when he gets up, he’ll find the car gone and himself stranded out in this cabin and 

There’s a crash from the kitchen. 

Pete gets up slowly, cracking the bedroom door open and half-expecting a rabid raccoon to be in the cabin because there’s no way that Rick’s still here, but - but no, it’s Rick standing in the middle of the kitchen with a bag of coffee beans spilled on the floor around his feet.

“Shit, here, let me - “ Pete says automatically, grabbing a hand-broom and a dustpan from a shelf and crouching down to start sweeping up the mess.  He doesn’t look at Rick’s face, too afraid to see him avoiding eye contact or anything similar. His eyes stay focused on the coffee beans littering the floor, and he feels a bit like a vampire in one of those old legends - the kind that has to sit and count every grain of rice when it’s left on a floor - and half-wonders if Rick’s going to use this to make his escape. 

But no, when Pete finally stands up, Rick’s still there. He seems almost frozen in place until Pete gets up and throws the beans into the trash.

“Hey, I’m sorry, you didn’t have to do that,” Rick says, His voice cracks on the last word, but he keeps talking, keeps pushing through the heavy atmosphere that still lingers in the cabin. “I was, um, I was going to make coffee, but I guess that’s not going to work anymore, uh. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Pete says. “Uh, I can run to that little store down the street if you want?” 

“Sure, if that’s not too much to ask,” Rick replies, taking twelve months of a comfort level that eliminated this kind of small talk down in one fell swoop. 

Pete pretends like he doesn’t notice. Pretend seems to be the word of the morning, apparently. Pretend this isn’t happening. Pretend like Pete’s eyes on the wall and Rick’s on the floor are normal. Pretend, pretend, pretend, pretend there hasn’t been a year. “Yeah, no, it’s no trouble, I’ll be right back."

Pete takes the car keys from the counter, cringing slightly at the loud sound they make in the otherwise quiet kitchen, and steps out through the front door. 

As he starts driving down the small, mostly deserted beach streets, he finds himself wishing more than ever that Patrick will show up in the face of one of the few passersby, that this fucking nightmare will end, but Pete passes only strangers as he reaches the mini-mart and parks.

He heads inside and forgets, for a second, that he actually is here for something other than an avoidance of last night. He stands like a deer in headlights, a man in automatic door sensors, until the cashier clears her throat awkwardly.    


Pete doesn’t find coffee beans, but there is a small coffee station, so he gets two large cups (too much sugar for himself, the perfect, practiced combination of just enough milk and sugar for Rick). His hands shake as he fills them. Thankfully, though, he manages not to spill anything, and he pays and leaves as quickly as possible. The cashier watches him go with an expression that shows she can’t decide between being amused or concerned. 

He keeps his eyes open on the way back to the cabin, but again, Patrick makes no miraculous appearance. Once he’s parked the car and stepped onto the porch, Pete pauses for a second. 

The sound of Rick’s crying from inside is muffled, but not enough that it’s not still clear what’s happening inside. Pete hadn’t thought it was possible for his heart to be broken any more, and yet. And yet.

He waits another moment before knocking, and another moment after that before entering. “They, uh, they didn’t have coffee beans or anything, but they had a machine, so - it’s probably shitty coffee, but I got your usual.”

Pete extends the coffee like some sort of offering. He’s not asking for peace, but rather an acknowledgment that he still knows Rick, Rick still knows him, that there’s something to be salvaged from the wreck. 

Rick takes the coffee, but he doesn’t meet Pete’s eyes, too busy scrubbing furiously at his own in an attempt to hide the fact that he’s still crying. 

“Thanks,” Rick manages, coughing loudly into his arm. “I, um. Well, I thought maybe the best way to get you back to Patrick would be to figure out what’s going on? So I’ve started trying to do some research, and - “

Pete sets his coffee down on the kitchen counter and sits down next to Rick at the table. “Aw, ba -  _ Rick,  _ you don’t have to - I’m, I’ve got it.”

The look on Rick’s face shows that he definitely heard what Pete almost said. Pete thinks that if the world were to end right now, that’d be a better situation than this.

“I know,” Rick says, though, after taking a sip of his coffee. “But…” He sighs, looks down at his hands. “Pete, I don’t know what’s going on here, um, I don’t even know how to  _ start  _ processing this, I - let me do this, okay?”

Pete blows out a long, heavy sigh. He hates it, he hates everything about this, but he understands. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Um. Have you found anything?”   


Rick perks up slightly as he tilts his laptop screen towards Pete. “Actually, yeah, this site is super sketchy, but what it’s talking about sounds a lot like what you told me last night. It’s about, um, it’s about this legend? It basically says that when, uh, well. It says that sometimes, when two people - it says soulmates, technically - are in love, but one of them isn’t sure if the other, like, loves them back, the universe will…. test them?”

“And make them find each other over and over again,” Pete realizes. He can’t believe he never thought to search what was actually happening before, good going there, but he also just can’t believe what’s he hearing. Soulmates and the universe and if  _ one of them isn’t sure the other loves them back.  _ That’s Patrick. Pete knows, because he’s never once doubted how real  _ PeteandPatrick  _ is, but Patrick must not have thought that Pete…fuck. Fuck.

“You okay?” Rick asks, and his voice is so, so gentle. Pete imagines, just for a second, that he said yes last night and this whole morning ceased to exist and things were easy, or at least not this goddamn hard.

“Yeah, yeah,” Pete says quickly. “Um, does the site say anything else?”

Rick taps a few buttons on his laptop and nods. “Yeah, actually, it says that in all recorded cases of this, which means like, three, but it says that there’s always been 100 lives before the - the soulmates were back together and in their original life. They still remembered everything, of course, but people say that it made them stronger and stuff like that.” He pauses and looks up at Pete, still not quite making eye contact. “How, uh, if this is really what’s happening, do you know how many lives you’ve had?”

“Um, not off the top of my head, but I have a list…” Pete says. “Here, can I borrow your laptop? I think I can pull it up on there.”

Rick nods, and Pete quickly logs into his account and pulls up the list. It’s barely even a list, more of a long, bulleted ramble, and Rick’s eyes widen when he sees it. 

“Holy shit,” he says softly. 

Pete doesn’t know how to reply to that, because, well, yeah. Holy shit. He quickly changes the bullet point format to a numbered list and is confronted with the fact that this life, the one he simply labeled  _ Rick,  _ is number 99. 

“Ninety-nine…” Rick says slowly. “That’s - I guess this is the second to last one, then, if we’re going off of what this says.”

Pete’s about to nod when he suddenly realizes that he left out a life - before Cynthia, he spent a few moments on a battlefield, just making eye contact with Patrick before everything went black. With shaking hands, he scrolls up and types it in, bumping number 99, Rick, up to 100. 

“If we’re going off of that,” Pete says, slowly, carefully, the implications and the hope already starting to build in his chest. “Fuck, if we’re going off of that - this is the last one.”

* * *

 

The morning after Pete and Rick get home from the beach, after a long and quiet drive and a silent decision that Pete will now be in the guest room, Pete comes downstairs to find that Jackie’s drawing has been removed from the refrigerator

It’s justified, he knows, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Pete turns away from his distorted stainless steel reflection and pushes his hair away from his face. Rick is already gone for work, and Jackie won’t be home until after he is, so Pete has nothing to do but sit in the uncomfortable house he almost called home. 

He wanders around aimlessly for most of the day, tracing his hand over pictures on the wall and thinking about a million and one things. This is, according to multiple sites that Pete and Rick found the previous day, the last life. And when ( _ if)  _ Pete finds Patrick again, it’ll be the last time he has to look. 

That’s amazing to know, even though it means leaving Rick and Jackie to whatever happens to these people after Pete leaves. He doesn’t even know if they’re  _ real,  _ but he knows that he can’t see them as anything else. The thought of leaving is the epitome of a double-edged sword.

But… leaving means seeing Patrick, and that’s the most important thing, always has been and always will be. Pete has no idea how Patrick couldn’t know that. It’s not like he’s quiet about how he feels, or like he restrains his shows of affection. But none of that matters, not really, when this is  _ it.  _ This is the last one, and all Pete has to do is find Patrick one more time. 

_ One more time.  _ It becomes his mantra for the rest of the day, one more time, one more time, one more time. 

Rick gets home from work and Lynn drops off Jackie just as Pete’s setting the table for dinner, a lasagna he made just for his hands to have something to do.

Jackie screeches for Pete before she’s even really across the threshold, and he picks her up and spins her around, laughing. His heart aches at the thought that once he finds Patrick, he’ll never see her again. Rick watches the entire exchange from his spot at the table, face closed off and eyes exhausted. 

“Hi, Daddy!” Jackie chirps when she sees him, and his face brightens. 

Pete busies himself with pouring Jackie a glass of milk while they catch up, not wanting to see Rick’s ( _ Patrick’s)  _ eyes look so defeated for any longer than he has to.

Dinner is an awkward affair, despite Pete and Rick’s best attempts to act like it’s not. Jackie fills most of the space with stories from school and her weekend, but there’s none of the usual banter between Pete and Rick. Pete’s trying to surgically detach each thread he’s woven between himself and this family, and Rick… well, Pete really has no idea what Rick’s trying to do at all. 

There’s not much opportunity for Pete and Rick to talk until after Jackie’s in bed. After reading her a bedtime story, Pete heads downstairs to slip into his office only to find Rick already in his chair, with the mouse hovering over the still-unfinished draft of “Pete’s” novel. 

Pete’s breath catches just loudly enough for Rick to turn quickly. 

“Sorry,” he says, cheeks turning red. “I wasn’t - I didn’t read anything, I was just… thinking.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have anything to apologize for,” Pete says. He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes for a moment. “Are you - what can I do right now to make this better?”

Pete’s half-expecting Rick to give some snarky response like, “Not be you,” or something, but he just sighs. “I don’t know. It’s like… I know you’re not a stranger, but you feel like one, and I don’t want things to change for Jackie, but I’m pretty sure they’re going to regardless, and I just - I don’t know what’s going to happen once you leave, and part of me wants to ask you to stay because it’s easier, but I couldn’t do that to you, and I just… I don’t know. I don’t know, Pete.”

“Yeah,” Pete agrees quietly. “I… yeah.” He lets his back slide down the wall, feeling vaguely like a slug, until he’s sitting on the hardwood floor, and drops his head into his hands. 

Rick makes a sound like he’s trying to clear his throat but failing. “Um. Well, I guess all we can do is try and keep acting the same? For Jackie’s sake. And I - I’m not going to say that I don’t want you to stay, Pete, but I know you’re never going to be happy here. So if you need to keep looking, and if you find him…. it’s okay.”

“Rick-“

“And if there’s anything I can do to help you find him, let me know. And I’m sorry, I know I’ve kind of been shitty since we got home, I told myself I was going to be okay with this but then I wasn’t, and -“

“ _ Rick. _ ” Pete pulls himself up off of the floor and crosses the two-step canyon between him and Rick. “You have nothing to apologize for, you’ve been amazing, okay? Thank you.” 

Pete places his hand over Rick’s where it’s resting on the desk, and while he only means it to show how much he appreciates Rick, somehow they’re kissing by the next time Pete blinks. It’s a bad idea, but neither of them make any move to stop themselves as they stumble out of the office and upstairs, whispering apologies and pleas and questions in between kisses. 

Afterwards, the regret doesn’t even wait until morning to set in. The minute Pete drops his head against the pillow, he’s sick to his stomach with guilt, and he knows Rick feels the same way. Neither of them say a word as Pete slides out of bed and down the hall to the guest room for another sleepless night.

* * *

 

“I don’t  _ wanna  _ go to the store,” Jackie announces for what must be the twentieth time in the past five minutes. “It’s dumb.”

“You can pick out your favorite kind of Goldfish if you go,” Pete offers, and Jackie finally relents and puts her shoes on with a huff.

Rick laughs softly at the exchange before he seems to catch himself. “Ready to go?” he asks Pete, in the same tone he’s been using for the past two weeks, the one that Pete’s privately nicknamed “Roommate Voice” because it’s casual enough to not alert Jackie to anything while making it clear that things are not the way they used to be. (Like Pete needs a reminder. Things are better than they were right after, of course, but Pete’s still spending nights in the guestroom and the house is still filled with a sad, tired air.)

But things are better than they were right after, and that’s the important thing. Rick’s stopped crying when he thinks Pete doesn’t notice, or at least, he’s gotten better at hiding it. Pete’s letting himself spend every day looking for Patrick again. The knowledge that this is most likely the last life before he can have  _ his  _ life again feels like Tantalus’ fruit sometimes, but at least it’s something.

It’s something to keep Pete going as he helps herd Jackie outside and into the car, as Rick drives them all down to the grocery store, as this life keeps going on, because what else could it do?

The store is pretty crowded once Pete, Rick, and Jackie arrive. They have to park in the very back of the parking lot and make their way through a crowd of distracted shoppers before they even get a cart. Pete makes sure to keep Jackie’s small hand in his as they walk, making it to their main destination - the snack aisle - without incident. 

Jackie starts tugging Rick along towards a large display of Goldfish, and Pete stays by the cart and checks the list over again. Apples and milk - they’ll grab those on the way out. Goldfish/snacks - got it. Macaroni and cheese - in the next aisle over, easy. Pete’s glad it’s such a short list today, because he’s already been bumped into three times and he’s just not feeling this. 

Rick and Jackie return with Goldfish in hand, and Pete starts pushing the cart into the next aisle, and that’s when his heart stops. 

Down at the other end of the long aisle, made even longer by Pete’s instant tunnel vision, is a small family. There’s a woman taking a box of pasta off the shelf, a baby cooing in the front seat of the cart, and … there’s Patrick. Standing under the fluorescent lights, saying something inaudible to the baby in front of him, laughing. His hair is messy and longer than Pete’s seen in it years, he’s wearing glasses and a wrinkled shirt, and he looks  _ beautiful.  _

Pete takes one step forward and a deep breath. 

The woman puts the pasta in her cart and reaches for Patrick’s hand. He takes it, smiles at her, and then he turns the cart around and leaves the aisle.

“Wait-” Pete tries to say, but no sound comes out. He thinks he’s about to start running when he feels a hand on his shoulder. 

“Pete? You okay?”

It’s Rick, of course it is, voice still so concerned and still so kind. For a moment, Pete wonders what it would be like to stay here. Patrick looked so happy with that family, he had a baby for fuck’s sake, and -

“Pete. hey, hey, what’s going on?”

“I - it’s - he’s here,” Pete chokes out. He knows that this is what he’s wanted for the past - well, forever, and he knows that Rick has said it’s okay that Pete is leaving, but now that the door has opened Pete’s not sure if he’ll survive stepping through. “Rick, he’s here, but I can’t - he’s - he has a family, and so do I, and - “

Rick freezes, his hand going momentarily tight on Pete’s shoulder. “Patrick?”

Pete can only nod, eyes still fixated on the corner of the aisle, the last place he saw Patrick before he disappeared. 

“Hey, just breathe, okay?” Rick says, his voice impossibly steady. “Just breathe, Pete. It’s okay. You can go, it’s okay.”

“But -” And Pete doesn’t know why on Earth he’s protesting now, after he’s spent so much time searching and hoping and praying for Patrick. He just - he didn’t expect this now, not when he and Rick finally had a non-awkward conversation last night, not when Jackie has her school art show on Monday night, not when Patrick is walking around grocery stores with a wife and baby and looking  _ so goddamn happy.  _ But.

“Pete? Are you okay?” Jackie pipes up, apparently no longer entertained by waving at everyone that passes them by. 

“Yeah, Jacks, I’m all good, I just - I’m going to run over to the next aisle and grab something real quick, okay?” Pete looks at Rick as he speaks in hopes of confirmation that yes, this is still okay, he can do this. Rick’s whole face is tight, closed off, but he manages to keep an imitation of a smile.

“Yeah, actually, Jackie, do you wanna go grab some yogurt with me? We can all meet right back here in a minute,” Rick says. 

“Okay!” Jackie agrees, climbing up to ride on the back of the cart. Rick gives her a fond smile before turning back to Pete and wrapping him a tight hug.

“It’s okay,” Rick whispers. “You’re never going to be happy without him, and that’s okay. Just go, alright? I’ll keep her distracted just in case … well, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”   


Pete hugs him back just as tightly, if not moreso, trying to keep back the tears in his eyes that shouldn’t be coming because it’s _ Patrick.  _ This is almost over and then he gets to be with Patrick again. “I know,” he whispers back. “But - if - is she going to be okay? I don’t, Rick, I - “

“Shh,” Rick murmurs, his voice finally breaking into something raw and rough that tears at Pete’s heart. He kisses Pete once, quickly, and it’s just enough to make everything harder but not enough for Pete to protest. “It’s okay. I promise.” 

With that, he lets go of Pete, almost pushing him away, and puts his hands back on the cart handle. His knuckles are white.

“See you a minute, Jacks,” Pete says, fighting to keep his voice steady. He wants to say so much more, wants to tell her that he loves her and he’s sorry for leaving and that she’s pretty much the best kid he’s ever met, but it’s not the time, it’s not the place. He wants to say so much to Rick too, wants to thank him and apologize and tell him that he loves him and that maybe, under different circumstances, things could have been better, but Rick is already pushing the cart out of the aisle and disappearing. 

He’s gone by the time Pete remembers to breathe again, and then Pete’s alone in the sea of shoppers. There’s only one thing he can do anymore.

So he stands up a bit straighter, sets his shoulders back, tells himself that everything’s okay, and walks into the next aisle.

Patrick’s still there, thankfully, turned away from his family as he looks over the cereals, and Pete can’t stop thinking about Rick and Jackie and what they might find in a few minutes but it’s still  _ Patrick.  _ It’s Patrick just ten feet away, now nine, singing along to the store’s radio under his breath. It’s Patrick for the first time Pete’s seen him in over a year. It’s Patrick.

He’s eight feet away now, just close enough to hear when Pete clears his throat, swallows down every emotion running through his bones, and says, “Trick?”

Patrick looks up and locks wide eyes with Pete. He stands in slow motion and opens his mouth to speak, but his words are drowned out by a low rumbling noise. Pete looks to his left, the source of the sound, to find the ten foot shelf next to him starting to shake.

* * *

 

Despite the way everything was so, so dark only a moment ago, there’s light dancing in the room when Pete wakes up. Sunlight is streaming in through the curtains, and the faint sound of birdsong filters in from outside. There’s even a warm body tucked under Pete’s arm - he’s snoring loudly, like some sort of vaguely melogic buzzsaw, and even though Pete can’t see the man’s face, he knows he looks like an angel.

Because it’s Patrick. It’s  _ Patrick _ , a familiar shape under Pete’s arm, a solid figure washing away the ache of the past years. It’s Patrick. There’s so much to talk about - one hundred lives’ worth, and even some before that - but right now, Patrick’s still asleep. There’s no need for words. He’ll wake up in a few hours time, and they’ll talk then. There’s no rush anymore.

Pete turns his head to the side slightly and is only half surprised when he finds that his pillow and cheek are wet with tears. There’s a strange taste in his mouth, somehow a mixture of Friday night dinners and wine, of the past and a future, of a man with curly black hair, of something distinctly Patrick. Just before Pete drifts back into sleep, he finally is able to place a word to the taste: bittersweet. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! feedback is always greatly appreciated!
> 
> also, a quick note: over the past couple of months, i've been less and less into bandom + i've slowly been migrating to other fandoms, namely the adventure zone (if u don't know what that is, it's a dnd podcast made by the mcelroy family and it is AMAZING)! as such, i don't really see myself writing as much bandom fic in the future. i still have a few loose ideas that i may eventually write, and i may still do peterick challenges, but now that i've wrapped up my last bandom wip (this), i'm probably going to try my hand at writing for taz. i just figured that i'd mention this so no one is surprised if i start posting different content! thank you for reading this little note, and thank you to everyone in this fandom for being so supportive over the past couple of years! :D


End file.
